


Security Blanket

by Cattraine



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:19:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cattraine/pseuds/Cattraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cougar shifted minutely under the flimsy camo tarp, blinked and set his eye to the scope again.  To any onlooker he was the picture of glacial calm. Silent, focused, and deadly. Inside his head he had a fiery inner monologue going that would rival one of Jensen’s Red Bull fueled rants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Security Blanket

**Author's Note:**

> (Movie ‘verse & pre-Aisha.)

The first time it happened he really didn’t think anything of it.

Cougar shifted minutely under the flimsy camo tarp, blinked and set his eye to the scope again. To any onlooker he was the picture of glacial calm. Silent, focused, and deadly. Inside his head he had a fiery inner monologue going that would rival one of Jensen’s Red Bull fueled rants.

This op was set in the ass crack of Afghanistan high in a icy, remote mountain pass in fucking November and consisted mainly of waiting for some asshole who was a big shot pendejo in the local drug cartel to show his turbaned head so Cougar could shoot it off and then they could all go home, because Cougar was freezing his cojones off. Clay had better set up their next leave in fucking Miami someplace sub-tropical, dammit, because it was going to take him a week to thaw the fuck out. Cougar was pissed enough to shoot his cojones off.

He shivered and glared up at the feeble sun that he could barely feel because of the knife sharp wind that was currently screaming through the pass and trying to slice his ears off despite his scarf and hat. Give him a nice steamy jungle any day… the scrape of boot heel on stone caught his ear and a second later Jensen slithered under the tarp with him with a bright grin and may the Blessed Virgin bless his soul, a hot thermos of coffee.

“Clay says take ten, man. The latest intel says the guy probably won’t show until tomorrow at the earliest.” He nudged the sniper away from the scope with his shoulder, handed him the thermos and leaned over to place his own eye to the scope.

Cougar grunted acknowledgement and wrapped his hands around the hot metal lid gratefully as he took the first sip of delicious warmth. His blissful sigh at the first swallow earned him another megawatt Jensen smile and he found himself returning it. When he finished his coffee and screwed the lid back on and handed it back to the hacker with a nod of thanks, he expected the man to scramble back down the rocky slope to the relative warmth of the tiny cave they had set up camp in, but instead, he stayed pressed warmly against Cougar’s left side, arm and leg thrown casually over Cougar’s body as he chattered happily about anything that crossed his mind.

It was closer than he allowed most of his one-night stands, but Jensen’s bulk was putting out heat like a fucking furnace and for the first time in a week Cougar was warm enough for his muscles to unknot. Plus, he made a damned good wind block.

So, he said nothing and slowly relaxed into the warmth of the larger man’s body. He didn’t even mind the chatter because the hacker was way more entertaining then watching a half dozen scruffy tribesmen huddle around their campfire and cheat (poorly) at cards. Jensen stayed several hours, by then it was dark and time to slither back down to their burrow and grab some grub and sleep.

The next morning it was even colder and the motherfucking wind had brought a layer of frost and snow to cover Cougar’s rocky perch. He settled in with a silent snarl, stoically prepared to spend yet another miserable day freezing his ass off for Uncle Sam. It was barely noon before Jensen slipped under his tarp, again bearing another offering of hot coffee as well as several chocolate bars that he cheerfully admitted to having purloined from Pooch’s not-so-secret stash, craftily leaving a incriminating crumpled wrapper on Roque’s bedroll to redirect his ire.

To Cougar’s silent amusement he made himself comfortable, draped over Cougar’s left side and back like a particularly warm, vocal blanket, chin digging into Cougar’s shoulder blade. He proceeded to yammer about varied topics like The Simpsons, his current Halo scores, the dream computer he was building (in his head), Roque’s alleged man crush on Clay, whether Jolene could take his sister in a fair fight and didn’t that cloud look like a bunny rabbit with fangs? After a comfortable hour or so, the techie was silent and limp, his head heavy on Cougar’s shoulder, and Cougar grinned when he realized Jensen had dozed off and was snoring faintly.

“Chalatan’.” Cougar murmured fondly.

He stayed still so his friend could nap in peace. The sniper was well aware of Jensen’s insomnia. They all suffered from it from time to time.

The damned op was dragged out for another week because the mark was delayed because of the damned weather and during that time, Jensen’s ‘visits’ became a regular thing and Cougar became accustomed to the younger man’s company and warmth. For a man who was by nature and profession something of a loner it was disconcerting at first, but he was nothing if not adaptable and shrugged it off. After all, Jensen was warm. Under the ratty tarp, they had their own little cocoon and even if Cougar didn’t catch half the computer jargon the tech spouted off, the incredibly bad, filthy jokes more than made up for it.

The day and night before Cougar finally bagged the mark (may he rot in hell, where it was at least warm) were the coldest yet. The wind howled down off the mountains bringing frigid sheets of icy rain and the team huddled around the fire in their tiny cave because visibility was shot.

Things began to shift when they turned in for the night. Cougar honestly thought he was going to freeze to death despite a double layer of thermal long johns and three pairs of socks. He had a woolen scarf wrapped around his face, his hat still jammed over his numb ears. His teeth were chattering so hard he could barely hear himself think.

He could hear Clay bitching about how it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey (or a Latino sniper), Roque cursing as he tried to get closer to the fire without setting himself ablaze, and Pooch snoring placidly (the hijo de puta had battery powered hunter’s socks and a hot water bottle that Jolene had sent him and he distinctly remembered how they all had laughed when he pulled them out of the box). He was miserably contemplating sleeping in the campfire himself when there was a hiss of nylon against stone and Jensen wormed over and zipped their bags together and proceeded to wrap himself around the shivering sniper, his broad chest to Cougar’s back.

Cougar opened his mouth to protest, and then clamped it shut as Jensen’s body heat did its magical thing, seeping into his skin. He could feel Jensen’s warm breath against the nape of his neck as the hacker buried his cold nose in Cougar’s hair. He gave an experimental wiggle and Jensen just pulled him closer, arms like a vise, preventing his escape. Cougar’s shivering slowed as their combined body heat amped up and he finally relaxed into sleep. Jensen smelled good, a little like limes and salt and if Cougar happened to pop a boner it was simply because of proximity, not because he was the Little Spoon.

After that particularly miserable op, the others noticed that Jensen had taken to tagging along after the sniper, mouth usually going a mile a minute.

What was unusual was the vast tolerance that Cougar showed the younger man. Hell, Cougar had threatened to shoot Roque more than once simply for running his mouth. They finally shrugged it off. Jensen was the newbie on the squad, still insecure about his place, and had apparently decided to latch onto to Cougar.

As for the sniper himself, if he found himself spending more time with the Tech to keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble, that was cool. The kid needed a keeper. He had almost no sense of self preservation when it came to normal social situations at all, and if Cougar stepped in to cockblock him from a questionable woman (everyone on base knew Carmen had the clap for God’s sake) or glare a table of Green Berets into line (he didn’t like the way the beefy sergeant was eyeing Jensen’s ass) he was just being a good compadre. After all, Jensen had all the social skills of Dennis the Menace.

So it quickly became common knowledge on base that it was unwise to fuck with the tech, because you would either find yourself literally in the crosshairs as Cougar ‘polished’ his rifle, or worse, under that unnerving stare. If Jensen noticed that the series of annoyingly juvenile pranks that had plagued him since he arrived suddenly stopped, he didn’t say. Pooch even joked that Cougar didn’t have to speak because Jensen talked enough for the both of them.

Three months after the Afghanistan op, Cougar was sent on a wet works op in Mazatlan. It was an in and out tap on a drug lord who had earned the ire of the CIA for his habit of killing its agents as well as their families. He was gone for a week. When he returned he discovered that Jensen has also been loaned out for a similar op, only he was supposed to provide the tech support for a raid on a gunrunner’s warehouse in a remote locale in east Texas.

The rest of the squad had dispersed on liberty—Pooch went home to Jolene, and Clay went off in pursuit of volatile women while Roque tagged along to cockblock him so he wouldn’t end up in jail or the hospital (again). Everything seemed fine, except Cougar was uneasy. He knew the guys in the CIA squad, they were all assholes, and he didn’t trust them with his hacker. He had a sneaking suspicion that something bad would happen. It turned out he was right. The CIA operation was a bust and the much worse for wear black ops squad turned up two days later, without Jensen. They had left him behind in the ambush.

Their mistake.

Cougar didn’t waste time. He left the squad leader unconscious, flat on his back with a broken nose and choking on his own blood, terrorized the CIA tech (out of the mission due to a broken leg) into giving him the necessary information, grabbed his gear and faded into the night before the MPs showed up. By the time Clay was called in he was long gone. Clay ignored the base commander’s screaming, hurriedly pulled the remainder of his team in and went in pursuit.

This particular warehouse was north of Beaumont on Bragg Road, near the three hundred plus odd kilometer mosquito and snake infested tangle of swamp, thorn, brush, and carnivorous plants known as the Big Thicket. Not a lot of sensible people went there, because if you were unlucky enough to get lost, the swarms of mosquitoes would kill you long before you died of hunger or thirst. Quite a few of the local hunters who went in every year, in search of deer or wild boar, never came out.

By the time Clay and the rest arrived it was late afternoon, the sun low on the horizon and they had no clue how far behind Cougar they were. It turned out, it didn’t really matter how late they were. All they had to do was follow a gory trail of dead gunrunners, like particularly macabre breadcrumbs into the depths of the old brick warehouse set off to the side of a long abandoned railroad track. The perimeter guards all had a neat bullet hole in the center of their foreheads. Most of the ones in the interior weren’t so lucky they had died with their throats slit and a surprised look on their faces.

The gloomy interior was deadly silent with only the buzz of enterprising flies and the stench of blood to greet them. Still, they wound their way cautiously through the stacks of wooden crates towards the office area. As they reached the metal staircase to the upper level and eased up it, weapons at ready, they heard a shaky, but recognizable voice mumbling in a familiar monologue.

“Man, those shitheads ran like turkeys the minute the bad guys opened up the big guns on them…ow, Cougs, ow! But I knew you guys would show up sooner or later, and Meathead there’s idea of interrogation was kind of unimaginative if you know what I mean? I mean ask a question, break a finger, ask a question, break a finger, how juvenile is that? Not to mention redundant! Hell, he didn’t like any of the answers I gave him anyway, and goddammit, he broke my favorite pair of glasses! Ow, Cougar, ow! Shit! Is my nose broken? It feels broken, and then to top it off he decided to get real friendly and cut off my pants…”

Clay sighed with relief and eased around the door, a grinning Roque and Pooch at his back and froze at the sight.

There in the middle of the floor, next to a battered, bloody wooden chair sat Cougar with Jensen lying across his lap. The sniper had a bottle of water and was gently rinsing out Jensen’s eyes, while murmuring quietly to him in Spanish. The kid was a mess. His face was dirty, bruised and blood smeared and he had a split lip and an ugly gash on his temple, and as Clay looked closer he realized that someone had broken the kid’s glasses while they were on his face, and that he was missing his pants and underwear. He had his knees drawn up to protect his genitals, and his thighs and hips bore scratches and fingertip bruises, and he probably had no idea how hard he was clutching the front of Cougar’s shirt, despite a couple of obviously broken fingers. To Clay’s eye, he looked horribly young and vulnerable, all knobby knees and socks and boots.

Pooch swore under his breath and moved quickly in with the med kit, and the kid interrupted his diatribe to happily greet him, while Roque stepped around the overturned desk to examine the dead man that lay there. The big man gave a low whistle under his breath at what he found and motioned the Colonel over with a quick tilt of his head. Clay glanced behind the desk and swallowed; glad he hadn’t had time for lunch. It looked like Cougar had taken some time with this one. Even Roque looked impressed with the knife work. This guy had been sent to hell missing some vital pieces and it was pretty clear by the stench that he had crapped himself on the way out.

Clay lowered his rifle and started to step over to inspect the kid, when Cougar lifted his head and stopped him in his tracks with a cold stare that nearly made him cringe. Cougar was pissed. If looks could kill, Clay would have been dead, buried with Cougar pissing on his grave by now. He met the irate sniper’s dark eyes and held them.

I know, we fucked up.

Cougar stared back stonily, not in a forgiving mood, then deliberately turned his attention back to his friend. Clay exchanged a look with Roque, who was being uncharacteristically tactful by keeping his mouth shut. Obviously they were all in the fucking doghouse over this. He sighed again, annoyed at himself for feeling so goddamned guilty. Jensen was a grown man and a soldier for God’s sake!

“Roque, secure the perimeter and call in a pick-up.”

He walked over and knelt by the bloody chair.

“Hey Kid, you doing okay?” he asked gently.

The Tech gave him a bloody grin, blinking wet lashes myopically in his direction.

“Yeah, Boss, but my eyes are kind of messed up and I lost my pants.”

Clay scowled, if those bastards had raped him…he looked at Pooch and raised a brow in question.

Pooch shook his head in a negative, and tilted Jensen’s chin so he could clean the cut on his temple.

“ Concussion, some broken fingers, cuts, bruises, looks like scratched corneas, massive loss of dignity. Seems like Cougar was just in time Buddy.”

He patted Jensen’s shoulder reassuringly and rummaged in his kit for more antiseptic pads and gauze to wrap his fingers.

Jensen snickered, “Yep, he saved my cherry, but I got a few kicks in before he got here. Ouch, Pooch! That shit stings!”

He grimaced as Cougar cupped his jaw with one big hand and firmly tilted his face back up for Pooch’s attention. The sniper’s face was grim but his hands were gentle. He still wanted to kill someone.

Clay stood and thumbed his radio.

“Roque, meet me out front.”

He looked down at the warehouse floor full of contraband firearms and dead smugglers with grim satisfaction. One Loser against fifteen smugglers. Fairly even odds if you thought about it. With this haul he was pretty sure there wouldn’t be any grief other than a slap on the wrist from the commander for this unauthorized op. As he stepped away he heard Jensen’s plaintive voice rise behind him

“Ah, man, those were my best Bugs Bunny boxers! Bethie gave them to me for my birthday! Umm, can someone please loan me some pants?”

**********************************************************

Roque leaned back in his rickety deck chair, beer in hand, and surveyed his surroundings with deep pleasure. The sun was shining, the ocean was fine, there was a bar ten feet away and he had some fine scenery clad in skimpy bathing suits scattered around the pool.

Somehow Clay had managed to get them all a month’s leave in Cabo. It had helped immensely that the hoard at the warehouse had contained not only guns and ammunition, but a large amount of Mexican brown as well, and that the base commander had a deep hatred of the current director of the CIA. The team had enjoyed rubbing in the fact that one Loser had accomplished what an entire Company black ops team had failed.

Word circulated also that the entire CIA team was not only in disgrace, but were having incredibly bad luck lately. Some had had their entire credit histories purged, one had lost the mortgage on his new house, another had discovered his name legally changed from Ed to Evelyn, several had mysteriously gotten the shit beaten out of them and two had gone AWOL.

Now the Losers were settled nicely into an isolated, shabby but clean tourist ‘village’ consisting of a half dozen or so battered beach cottages scattered haphazardly around a pool and an outdoor café and bar. They were right on the beach and the sound of the surf was a pleasant backdrop to the almost constant laughter and music.

The squad was bunking in the largest cottage—the one painted pale green with the tin roof and dark green shutters (there was a definite pastel theme going here). There were three bedrooms, Clay had his own and Pooch and Roque shared one while Jensen and Cougar had the other. It was the largest one in the back with French doors that opened onto a tiny stone patio with a spectacular view of the ocean. No one had said a word about the fact that there was only one large bed.

Cougar had stuck to the kid like glue since they picked him up at the warehouse in Texas. He had spent the night waiting at the hospital while Jensen was patched up (mild concussion, three broken fingers on his left hand and two on his right, stitches, and temporarily bandaged eyes – due to cornea scratches from the lens of his shattered glasses.) The bandages were due off in a couple days. They were there simply until his vision cleared and to keep the hacker from constantly rubbing his eyes.

Roque grinned at the sight of Cougar and Jensen emerging from the cottage. Cougar ambled patiently along, the kid following a step behind, one bandaged hand clamped on the sniper’s shoulder babbling away while gesturing wildly with the other. He was dressed in eye-popping lime green board shorts topped with the latest Petunias shirt (this one a violent shade of yellow with a large purple flower in the middle) and pale blue flip-flops. As Roque watched they headed over to a grove of palm trees strung with a variety of colorful striped hammocks.

Pooch snorted with amusement at the sight as he strolled up beside him with a large margarita in hand and they watched grinning, as Cougar deftly toppled his charge into the nearest hammock, ignored his indignant squawk and handed him his iPod, then stole his flip-flops so he wouldn’t attempt an escape. Jensen was a tenderfoot and the beach sand mined with sharp shards of shell and gravel was more of a guarantee then temporary blindness of keeping him in place—at least for a while.

“How long you think that’s gonna hold him?” Pooch asked.

“As long as Cougar wants it to man, kid can’t take a piss without Cougar at his shoulder.”

Roque took a long swallow of his beer, gaze shifting to a very fine, doe-eyed lady across the pool who was pretending to ignore his manly physique while she slathered cocoanut oil on long, lovely legs. He gave her his best leer.

Pooch chuckled and settled into the chaise lounge beside him with a happy sigh. Man, if only Jolene was here, everything would be perfect. He watched as Cougar tapped Jensen’ arm, then strolled off to the end of the bar to put in an order and Jensen hollered after him not to forget his fish tacos and hot sauce, then tried to settle himself in the wildly swinging hammock with some dignity without toppling out on his ass. Pooch noticed that although Cougar stayed at the bar to wait for the food, he kept a sharp eye on his charge. He and Roque had a hundred dollar side bet going as to exactly how long it would take the sniper to get a clue.

Across the pool a couple of co-eds were giggling and preening, trying to get Cougar’s attention, but he ignored them, eyes firmly on the flailing geek in the hammock. He accepted a shot of tequila from the bartender with a nod of thanks and slung it back, automatically surveying the surrounding area again for anything deadlier than crabs or seagulls, then returned his attention to Jensen. The tech was apparently building a nest of sorts with the pillows in the hammock and singing along (badly) with his iPod.

Cougar pulled his hat down lower and scowled. He was still wound up after the op, despite appearances. He leaned back, elbows on the bar, and tried to relax, but the shriek of a laughing child from the pool had him instantly snapping back to hyper alert, eyes locking on Jensen. He felt a fond grin quirk the corner of his mouth. Jensen was now waving a fish-shaped pillow in the air, bobbing it through imaginary waves, apparently serenading it. Idiota.

Three stools down, Clay eyed Cougar’s tense shoulders and sighed.

“He’s gonna be okay you do know that, right?”

Cougar sniffed and raised his chin, deliberately turning his shoulder to his commanding officer. He still wasn’t ‘speaking’ with Clay. Jensen had nearly been killed or worse, and by God, Clay should have known better and kept an eye on the hacker.

Clay shook his head.

Still in the doghouse.

He shook his head and turned his attention to the smiling redhead in the low cut green sundress at the end of the bar, who winked back at him. She looked…volatile.

The food arrived and Cougar nodded his thanks, paid and headed back to Jensen.

Across the pool Roque’s head snapped up and his dark eyes narrowed, homing in instantly, like a shark on a fat seal, as Clay took his beer and ambled down the bar to where a red haired floozy sat sipping sangria. Goddammit! Clay knew better! Red headed women were fucking dangerous! Cursing under his breath, he shot up out of the chair, doe-eyed damsel already forgotten and stormed over to cockblock the colonel.

Behind him, Pooch snickered, lay back on the lounge and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. They were all damned fools, Roque as oblivious as Cougar. He was the only sane man here. Smiling at the sky he wondered how long it would take his teammates to catch the clue bus. He stretched happily and wiggled his bare toes in the warm sun. Damn, if only Jolene was here, she could wear that red bikini he had bought her…he sighed wistfully and smiled. Good times.

He sat back up and watched the fun as Cougar’s cold glare headed off any male or female who got within ten yards of the oblivious, happily eating-and-chattering-and-swinging at the same time Jensen, and Roque bulldozed in for the hundredth time on Clay’s bumbling attempt at seduction. This was better then television any day. He made a mental note to update Jolene on their bet. Her money was on Cougs breaking first and jumping the tech’s bones, while his was on Roque nailing Clay. He was pretty confident that he would win, after all Roque didn’t have half the sniper’s patience.

**********************************************************

The next day they all strolled along the beach into town to the nearest clinic to get Jensen’s bandages removed, Jensen trying to talk Cougar around to the idea of boogie boarding later. Roque hooted at the idea and reminded him that cats didn’t like water. Clay and Pooch chimed in with the reminder that water didn’t particularly like Roque.

Cougar merely smirked and said one word; “Matamoros.”

Sensing a story of woe, Jensen spun around in glee, nearly tripping over his own feet, delighted at dishing any dirt on badass Roque.

“Do tell!”

Cougar caught him before he could trip over a chunk of driftwood, steadied him with a hand to the small of his back, and steered him around it.

The kid beamed at him. “Thanks, Cougs!”

“Assholes! It was one fucking time! I got tangled in that motherfucking net and I was carrying a full payload!”

Roque was sulking now. That incident had not been his finest moment. He could swim. He just chose not to. He wasn’t in the motherfucking Navy.

Clay grinned, remembering the look on his SIC’s face when he had fallen through the rotten boards of the old dock and nearly drowned in three feet of water.

Pooch chuckled and launched into the humiliating story, much to the tech’s delight, while Roque grumbled under his breath and pretended to be pissed. At the end, Jensen laughed so hard he nearly fell into the surf, sputtering and repeating;

“All he had to do was stand up!”

He bounced off of the big captain’s chest when Roque stepped over meaning to put him in a headlock and give him a noogie, only to be plucked out of the way by Cougar, who gave Roque a sharp warning glance and stepped between them. No touching the techie until he could defend himself. They continued up the beach, Jensen breaking into the occasional snicker and Roque grumbling about silly white boys.

The squad didn’t really relax until the doctor clipped and unwound the gauze and Jensen blinked and grinned at them from his perch on the table, feet swinging happily. They were not so amused when he immediately reeled back and pretended to be struck blind by Roque’s grinning visage. That little trick earned him a smart whack on the back of the head from Cougar and a lecture on stupid jokes from Pooch.

They left the clinic grinning like idiots and Cougar ignored the knowing smirk Roque shot Pooch when he quickly snagged a pair of sunglasses from a street vendor and slid them on the kid’s face to protect his watering eyes from the bright sunlight. They stopped at a café for lunch, hit a bodega, stocked up on beer and liquor on the way home and then proceeded to throw an impromptu pool party, invited every female within a mile radius and got roaring drunk. The rest of the afternoon and night was kind of a blur after that but their hangovers were epic.

As a result they were all subdued the next day, most of which they spent sleeping off their headaches in their respective bedrooms, with the blinds and curtains tightly drawn against the evil sun. Clay stumbled rumpled and squint-eyed, out of his bedroom late in the evening to find a sullen Roque and a sleepy Pooch camped out on the couch in the living room watching a badly dubbed Die Hard marathon on the ancient television. Cougar was in the kitchen unpacking a bag of take out burritos that no one was really interested in eating, while Jensen sat at the table with his head in his hands and cursed the inventor of tequila and all of his ancestors.

A few hours later, while Clay and the others alternately cheered and jeered at John McClane’s heroic adventures, Jensen mumbled a goodnight and staggered off to bed, rubbing his eyes. After a few minutes of scowling at the TV, Cougar frowned, stood, snagged the prescription bag from the clinic off the kitchen counter and followed.

**********************************************************

Inside the dark bedroom, Jensen pushed open the French doors and shoved the billowing gauze curtains aside, pausing long enough to take a deep breath of the salty night air. The soothing sound of the surf down on the beach blocked out the earsplitting TV explosions in the living room nicely. Pushing his glasses up and knuckling his burning eyes, he threw himself down on the bed with a weary grunt. Damn, he was tired and he hadn’t really done anything all day.

He rolled over on his back and blinked at the cracked ceiling, it was really great to have his sight back. A gecko blinked back at him and snapped a tongue out to nab a fluttering moth. The two regarded each other solemnly for a minute before the gecko padded off across the ceiling in search of more tasty bugs.

“You go, buddy” Jensen muttered.

He eyed his bandaged, splinted fingers dourly. Meathead had snapped three on the left—pinkie, ring and middle, and two on the right, pinkie and ring. He held his hands up and made lobster claw shadows on the wall, humming the theme for SpongeBob under his breath, before huffing out a bored sigh. At least the bastard hadn’t broken his thumbs and forefingers, although a fat lot of good that did him since the guys had hidden his laptop despite his whining, insisting that this was a vacation, for fuck’s sake.

He couldn’t quite place why he felt so out of sorts, like he was stretched taut beneath his skin. The pounding headache and the slight queasiness that were the remnants of his hangover didn’t help. He gave a disgruntled hum and scratched his belly, wondered idly if he should get up and take a shower before turning in. Maybe it would help him sleep…he rolled over and buried his face in the nearest pillow, then sighed and inhaled deeply. It smelled like Cougar’s hair, musk and salt.

Dammit, he didn’t want to think about Cougar…especially when he couldn’t seem to sleep soundly without him nearby anymore. What had started out as pure hero worship had evolved into something much more complicated. Something he really didn’t want to think too close about because if he did, he might do something so stupid and desperate that it might get his ass shot. He tried to imagine the look on Cougar’s face if he told him about how he felt and cringed mentally. That’s right fool, tell the deadliest man you know you’re in love with him and see what it gets you. Talk about a shot to the heart!

He rolled back over and nearly screamed like a girl because Cougar was standing right the fuck there at the foot of the bed. Of course, he hadn’t heard him come in. Heart pounding, and clutching the pillow to his chest like a spinster, he sat up and glared, defensive.

“Shit, man, give me a fucking heart attack!”

Cougar merely raised a brow and shook the little pharmacy bag at him. He already had a bottle of water in his other hand, which he placed on the bedside table before taking a seat on the bed and opening the bag.

Jensen watched silently as he removed a bottle of painkillers and shook two into his palm, before again raising an interrogative eyebrow. The tech huffed and dutifully opened his mouth. Cougar dropped the pills in and Jensen obediently swallowed, he accepted the water, sipping slowly and watching the sniper from under his lashes. He knew from past experience it would do no good to argue, Cougar would just sit on him and hold his nose and force-feed him his meds.

“Thanks mami” He said sarcastically.

Cougar gave a evil smirk and held up the small vial of prescription eye drops he had pulled from the bag, before casually reaching over and gently plucking his glasses off his face, carefully folding them and setting them aside. Jensen huffed out another loud sigh and flopped back on the bed, trying hard to ignore the warmth he felt inside at the sniper’s proximity and attention. He waggled his brows.  
“Okay, Doctor Alvarez, I’m all yours.”

Cougar snorted out a small laugh as he bent over and held Jensen’s chin still with one hand, and carefully squeezed drops into his eyes with the other. Jensen sighed and blinked happily at the instant coolness easing his sore eyes. He gave his friend a megawatt smile in thanks.

“Thanks buddy.” He said softly.

Cougar smiled.

“De nada, mijo.” He ruffled Jensen’s hair and stood, padding away to the adjourning bathroom.

Jensen groaned and rolled over on his side, still squeezing his pillow. Today at the café, when Cougar had locked eyes and smirked at him while he was in mid-babble, it had been all he could do not to jump the man over the table. He groaned and stretched sleepily as the powerful pills began to kick in, and drifted off to the muted sound of the shower and the surf, and muddled thoughts of long, dark hair and eyes and water pouring over a lean, wet brown body.

Cougar emerged from the shower, a thin towel knotted around his narrow hips, using another to dry his hair. He smiled at the sight of Jake, totally zonked out and curled up on the bed, pillow clutched like a teddy bear to his chest. He padded over on silent feet and removed the kid’s flip-flops, leaving him his clothing. Ever since the incident at the warehouse, the younger man had been uncharacteristically body shy, careful to keep his nether regions clothed and protected.

Cougar hissed silently at the memory of easing through the door in that filthy warehouse and seeing a half-conscious, half naked Jensen feebly struggling under the weight of the burly man who had him bent over the desk. It was the first time in his life that Cougar literally saw red, and he had dropped his rifle, drawn his knife and pounced like his namesake on the fat cabron’. To be honest he didn’t remember a lot after that until he heard the kid shakily call his name from where he had fallen behind the overturned desk, hands still tied behind his back. He came back to his senses crouched over a mutilated corpse with blood still dripping off his knife blade.

Cougar took a few deep, deliberately calming breaths. He didn’t like being out of control of his emotions, it unsettled him, and he had been unsettled ever since the day he first looked into Jensen’s bright blue eyes. He stepped out on the small patio, and finished drying his hair, brooding eyes on the rolling surf. There was a full moon tonight, he noted detachedly, offering good visibility. This was a good place for Jensen to heal. He liked that. The kid could enjoy the sun and flirt with pretty girls to his heart’s content during the day, and rest near the sea at night and regain his equilibrium.

He pulled on a pair of pants and did a silent scout of the perimeter of the house. Clay and the others were still sprawled in the living room watching TV. Other then a few inebriated co-eds who tried to coax him into joining them in the pool, it was quiet. Satisfied, he slipped back in the French windows, and closed the bedroom door. Then he stripped off his pants and slid into bed beside Jensen and tugged him into his arms.

The kid made a sleepy sound of contentment, rolled over and immediately buried his nose in the hollow of Cougar’s throat. Jensen nuzzled into his hair and inhaled deeply, threw an arm and leg over him and settled back down without waking. Cougar wrapped a arm around his shoulders, allowed himself to briefly stroke the soft, cropped hair, then relaxed into the other man’s familiar warmth, dropping almost instantly into sleep himself.

_Hard hands hurting him, the one in his hair cracked his face viciously against the sturdy oak desktop and white pain flared through his skull and there was glass in his eyes and blood running down his face when he struggled his broken fingers were twisted hard hurt Jesus everything hurt and he wanted to scream for Cougar but Cougar wasn’t here and Oh God no the bastard was cutting his pants off and cold air on his skin before that fat pig covered him holding him down he couldn’t move he tried to kick back but got his head cracked against the desk again and red stars exploded in his eyes and no no his feet were kicked apart and hard hands were digging into his hips pulling him back he heard the click of a belt buckle and the sound of an opened zip then dry fingers were digging inside him and nonnonon…_

“NO!” Jensen bolted upright, struggling, kicking and punching but strong arms suddenly wrapped around his waist and pulled him back against a hard chest, cradling him, practically rocking him. Familiar hands caught his wrists, immobilizing his injured hands as he flailed, and Cougar’s quiet tenor murmured in his ear.

“Shhhh, mijo, estoy aqui’, esta’ bien, ssshhh. Le tengo.”

“Co… Cougar?”

Shaking like a leaf and panting for breath, Jensen slumped, all the fight going out of him. He turned his head and buried his hot face in Cougar’s shoulder, hoping that his friend couldn’t see it in the shadowed room. Cougar held him easily, rubbed his back, stroked his hair and waited patiently for him to pull his shit together.

“Sorry, man, sorry…” he mumbled, ashamed. Jesus Christ, he was blubbering like a baby, tears and snot streaming, and practically sitting in Cougar’s lap. He fumbled and tried to wipe his face with one bandaged hand, refusing to look up, his face hot with embarrassment.

To his surprise, warm hands cupped his face and tilted it up to meet blazing dark eyes. Cougar looked mad.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of mijo. Nada, comprende’?”

Cougar leaned his forehead against Jensen’s and just held him, hands stroking gently down his hair, and shoulders and back, calming him, patiently allowing him regain his composure.

Jensen closed his eyes and leaned into him, trying to steady his breath. It was hard because Cougar was touching him, holding him and his skin and breath were warm against his, his hands gentle, and Jensen felt a familiar heat uncoil in his belly. For the first time in his life he was afraid to open his mouth because he didn’t want this moment to end.

He wanted to stay close to Cougar he wanted…he wanted so badly he ached. He didn’t dare open his eyes because he couldn’t stand to watch Cougar pull away. So, when Cougar pulled back, the hand cupping his jaw the warm lips brushing over his wet eyes and mouth came as a complete shock. His eyes popped open to meet Cougar’s soft smile.

“Usted entiende, ahora?” He asked gently.

Jensen nodded slowly, barely daring to believe, eyes wide.

This time when Cougar leaned in and kissed him, he hesitantly kissed back, opening his mouth obediently to the lips moving over his. The kiss deepened and Cougar pulled him closer and took control, tongue slipping in to tangle with his. He moaned in pure pleasure as Cougar gently pushed him back down against the pillows and moved over him. Cougar was naked, he realized as he ran his hands hungrily down the smooth, lean back, and goddamn, but the man could kiss!

And kiss they did, Cougar seemed intent on tasting every inch of him, taking his time, making little forays off to nuzzle and nip along his throat, jaw and ears before returning to take his mouth, even brushing soft kisses over his healing bruises and cuts. When he sat back with an impatient little growl, hooked his fingers into the neck of Jensen’s ancient Journey band shirt and ripped it right the fuck off, Jensen nearly came on the spot.

Apparently now satisfied with access to Jensen’s skin, Cougar slowly began to work his way south, while Jensen panted and jammed his splinted hand in his mouth to keep from screaming out loud as the hot mouth moved over his sensitive skin and clever hands lazily explored his body.

Cougar knelt over the man beneath him, intent on laying a claim to him. He had had men before, a few casual encounters and he didn’t judge—a soldier took comfort where he could—but he had never felt this way about anyone, man or woman before, but this was Jensen, his Jensen, his compadre, no, his carnal, soon to be his amante—clever, brave, funny, scarily competent, geeky and just plain beautiful. He wanted Jake desnuda, now so he could map out his skin with tongue and teeth. He planned on sinking so deep into the man that Jake would feel him for a week afterwards. No one else would ever touch him this way again, he was his now, to keep and protect. It was madness to do this, to stake a claim on the tech, but it was what it was—it felt right, and Cougar rolled with that.

He moved back up and removed Jensen’s hand from his mouth so he could taste those lips again, reveling in the way Jake moaned and clutched at him, bandaged fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, and tangled in his hair as though he were afraid Cougar would change his mind and leave at any moment. That wasn’t going to happen. Only muerte could separate them now, and then Dios willing, not for long. So, he set about reassuring his amante with kisses and sweet words and gentle touches. He didn’t know how much experience other then abuse, Jake had with lying with men, so he treated him like a virgin this first time together, with all the passion and tenderness he held in his heart for the young man.

Jensen had other ideas. He bucked under Cougar, lifting his hips to allow his board shorts to be tugged off, groaning when a deft hand yanked them down and he kicked them away because they were in the fucking way and he wanted, no, needed to feel all of Cougar’s heat and weight against him. He wrapped long legs around the sniper’s narrow waist and pulled him down, tangled his hands in that long, soft hair and bit at his mouth, hissing in pleasure when that long, hot dick met his.

Cougar gave a surprised grunt and a soft chuckle, and obligingly dove in, hands and mouth just as hungry, and they groaned and ground their hips together, hard cocks trapped slick between them. They rolled together, across the bed, tangled so tightly together that there was no space between their sweaty bodies, so lost in each other that an entire platoon could have marched through the room unnoticed.

Cougar finally pinned Jensen beneath him again. Not so easy with a man who outweighed and was bigger than he was and who seemed intent on devouring his face. He managed to hold Jensen down long enough to distract him by setting his teeth into those solid pecs, catching tiny nipples between sharp teeth and alternating between nipping and suckling bites. When he glanced up to check his progress, Jake looked blissed out, eyes closed, head thrown back displaying the long line of his throat, despite the fact he was again biting hard on the heel of his hand to stifle his throaty moans of pleasure.

Jake Jensen was a noisy little fucker in bed and Cougar had every intention of making him scream before the night was gone. Cougar gave a pleased smirk and went back to work, enjoying the sight of the shiny red marks left by his teeth blooming across Jensen’s torso. He chewed hard nipples raw and licked a wet stripe down to his belly button, nipping tender, quivering skin and pausing to gnaw on the curve of a hipbone, until he had Jensen whining with need.

Cougar made sure to kiss or caress the fading scratches and bruises left by the attempted rape in the warehouse. He ran a admiring hand up a well muscled thigh, dropped another kiss on the jut of Jensen’s hipbone, totally ignoring his erection despite Jensen’s husky pleas. The younger man moaned in frustration and hissed a curse when he licked, then nipped another tiny bruise into tender belly skin.

He finally took pity and upped the ante by rolling to the side, reaching down between them and wrapping long fingers around that very fine erection that was pressed insistently into his hip, and began lazily jacking him, enjoying the feel of hot velvet soft skin, and the way Jake gasped and rolled his head on the pillows, arching helplessly beneath his touch. He leaned over and sank his teeth into that long throat and sucked hard bringing up his first mark, dark with bruising. Mine. Tomorrow everyone would know it. Jake would wear his tooth marks and his scent from now on.

Jensen reacted like he had been electrocuted, jerked and thrust hard into his hand as he lost it and shot his load, heavy spurts covering Cougar’s hand and wrist. He had dug his teeth into his hand again to keep quiet, and he didn’t protest when Cougar nudged it aside and took his panting mouth again, kissing him deeply, hand cupping the nape of his neck to hold him still.

When Cougar lifted his mouth scant millimeters from his, gave his cock another firm squeeze and murmured, “Este es mio, usted ahora pertenece a mi.” Jensen could only nod fervently in agreement, and when Cougar nuzzled his cheek and whispered in his ear, “Dejeme, mi amante.” He knew exactly what he was asking for and could only murmur a shaky affirmative. He had messed around with guys a little, flirting and kissing, even a few blow jobs, but he had never been fucked. He wanted this, as dangerous and stupid an idea as it was, he had never wanted anything more, and he trusted Carlos with his life and his body.

Cougar kissed him hard, patted his thigh, murmured that he would be right back and rolled off the bed to pad into the bathroom, flushed, heavy erection jutting between his thighs. Jensen admired the flex of a very fine ass and the cascade of dark hair down his shoulders. He heard him turn on the water for a few minutes then he came back carrying a rolled up towel and a small jar. Nervously, Jensen started to roll over on his belly, but Cougar stopped him with a quick kiss and slid into bed beside him again, resuming their positions—Jensen on his back, Cougar on his side facing him, leg thrown over his.

He slid his hand under Jensen’s neck, pulled him close and began kissing him again, slowly and deeply, while lazily stroking his belly and thighs, urging him without words to relax. Jensen wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck, tangled his hands in that luxurous dark hair, and returned his kisses hungrily. He could never get enough of Cougar’s kisses. The man fucking owned him already. He moaned as he felt his body respond to the soft touches, his cock filling again.

Cougar never stopped the kisses, even as he moved over him, gently lifted Jensen’s leg and hooked his knee over his shoulder, giving him access to his most secret places. He uncapped the jar and dipped his fingers in the thick, oily salve. It was a common herbal mixture used as a pomade, but it would do for now. Gently, he fondled and stroked his amante’s genitals, waiting until Jensen moaned and thrust helplessly into his hand, before slipping a finger back between firm cheeks to stroke the tiny, furled opening. His boy was a virgin, as he had suspected, and he would take his time and drive him out of his mind before he mounted him and claimed him.

**********************************************************

Pooch yawned and leaned back in his armchair, stretching lazily. Across from him on the couch, Clay leaned over used the remote to click the TV off. Roque stood and stretched like a big dog, heavy biceps flexing.

“Man I can’t believe we watched fucking Die Hard all damned night. Should have gone to the bar.”

Clay snorted, and muffled a yawn. “Can still go. Can find one open most of the night.”

Roque caught the yawn and shrugged. “It’ll be there tomorrow.”

They all froze at a soft pained cry from the back bedroom. Jensen! They were moving before they realized it, Clay taking point, gun already in hand with Pooch and Roque right behind him.

Clay pushed open the door, only to immediately reel back, free hand clamped firmly over his eyes.

“I did not see that!”

He turned tail and headed back to his own bedroom mumbling under his breath about DADT, and shut the door very firmly behind him.

Roque peered curiously around the doorframe, a broad leer spreading over his scarred face. Pooch’s jaw dropped as he got an eyeful of his own, although he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Jensen wasn’t exactly in pain.

He was sprawled on his belly across the white sheeted bed, head thrown back in ecstasy, pillow under his hips with Cougar laid out over him, tan skin against light, hips moving smoothly, fucking the larger man into the mattress. The sniper was mouthing the tech’s shoulder and neck, his dark hair half veiling his face and Jensen’s, and as they watched, he paused long enough to sink sharp teeth into the nape of Jensen’s neck and bite down, causing the younger man to arch up with a yowl.

The kid looked blissed out of his skull, face flushed with pleasure, mouth swollen and red as he sank his teeth into his lower lip in a futile effort to keep quiet. His bandaged hands clutched and clawed at the sheets, and as they watched Cougar reached up and deftly caught his wrists to keep him from hurting them. Cougar raised his head and shook his hair out of his narrowed eyes, glaring a silent warning at the intrusion, hips still thrusting languidly. Jensen never even noticed they were there.

Pooch shouldered a broadly grinning Roque back, leaned in and pulled the door closed, aiming a smirk of his own at the entwined couple. His ears were hot and he would never, ever fucking admit that he was blushing or that he had popped a rock hard boner. Some things were better left unsaid.

Roque sheathed the enormous knife he apparently only realized he still had in his hand and scratched the nape of his neck. He gave Pooch an evil grin and rubbed the palms of his hands together.

“That’s a hundred bucks you owe me, bro. Think I’ll go check on Clay.”

Pooch snorted and watched him strut down the hall, and tap lightly once on the door before entering, pulling it firmly closed behind him. Check on Clay, his ass! He headed back to his own room. Goddamn it, he should have known better then to bet against Jolene! He never won against that woman. Why the hell couldn’t Roque have gotten his ass in gear an hour or two sooner? He had a feeling he would be sleeping with a pillow over his head tonight, because the goddamn walls were paper-thin. Hmm, maybe he would have time to call Jolene for a little sweet talk before it got too late…

######################

Jensen woke with a sigh that quickly became a pained groan when he tried to roll over and got a decisive throb of protest from his nether regions. The bed was mess of tangled sheets and trashed pillows that stank of sweat and spunk. He blinked and stretched in the warm morning sunlight flooding the room, a really, really stupid grin stretching across his face because he had a distinct memory of Cougar stroking a possessive hand down his back and kissing him awake earlier, and murmuring in his ear that he would see him outside. The son of a bitch would be a morning person, up at the crack of dawn even after fucking Jensen nearly unconscious the night before. His dick gave a feeble twitch at the memory.

He rolled over and sat up very carefully, and ow, ow, ow his ass did not like that move at all, the Cougar bite on his left ass cheek throbbing angrily. He stood shakily and limped determinedly to the bathroom. There had to be some antibiotic ointment in the med kit to ease things, because he sure as hell wasn’t making the walk of shame gimping along like an arthritic old man. Especially since he suspected Cougar had strolled out fresh as a daisy and merely smirked at Clay and the guys.

Jensen was no fool, no way in hell were they going to go easy on him, because he had distinct memories of Cougar making him howl like a wolf last night, and there was no way in hell they hadn’t heard that. First a shower, then breakfast, and jeez, he could eat a entire pig, so hopefully somewhere there was bacon and sausage and possibly huevos rancheros…  
.  
Sure enough the bastards were sprawled by the pool, and cackled like the hyenas they were. As he strolled past, each man flipped up a napkin scorecard with a pitifully low score. He sniffed disdainfully, shot them a single, eloquent digit, stuck his nose in the air and limped like a man over to where Cougar was stretched out in one of the hammocks, hat tipped low over his face. All thoughts of breakfast were immediately forgotten at the sight of that elegant sprawl. He had it bad. It was like his dick was a magnet and Cougar was due North.

Clay lay back on the chaise and watched with amusement as the boys catcalled and jeered at Jensen when he finally emerged from the house. The kid was looking a little worse for wear, hair spiked in all directions, dark sunglasses, and a truly horrible pink Hawaiian shirt printed with dancing yellow and orange pineapples wearing sunglasses, worn over khaki shorts. Clay couldn’t help but notice it was buttoned all the way up and that the flipped up collar didn’t do a very good job of hiding the string of love bites. It figured that Cougar would be a biter. Cats were like that.

He watched as Jensen sneered and flipped them off jauntily, walking pretty damned funny as he automatically made a beeline to the shady grove where Cougar lolled in a hammock, doing a good impression of his namesake. He still had the image of them fucking seared into his retinas, and the even more unsettling memory of Roque’s disquieting ‘visit’ to deal with.

He dropped his eyes down to where one big, dark scarred-knuckled hand rested casually (possessively) on his thigh and watched as his SIC showed his teeth to a passing co-ed. Clay sighed and lay back and closed his eyes. Shit! So what if his sniper and tech were fucking and his SIC was…umm, yeah. Hell, he was gonna take a nap, goddamn it, and not think about things for a while.

An indignant yelp across the pool caught his ear and he cracked open an eye just in time to see Cougar casually curl a fist into Jensen’s awful shirt and yank him down into the hammock. He closed his eye determinedly and shut out the sound of Pooch and Roque’s snickers (sounded like they had a bet about something), and Jensen’s muffled happy babble. After all, it was naptime, and dammit, he was on vacation.


End file.
